


Special Delivery

by deklava



Series: Alpha!Lestrade omega!Mycroft [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Lestrade, Alpha/Omega, Childbirth, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Verse, Omega!Mycroft, Orgasm, birth scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade had been through a lot of hair-raising situations during his career at the Met. He’d been shot at, stabbed, trapped in burning buildings, and brawled with criminals capable of snapping his neck like a wishbone. Yet he’d never been more anxious than he was right now, awaiting the birth of his first child.</p>
<p>His and Mycroft’s child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** chasingriver
> 
> This fic is part of my Alpha!Lestrade and omega!Mycroft series. Yes, I caved in to pressure and am writing about the delivery of the Holmes heir referenced in the last story :)

Lestrade had been through a lot of hair-raising situations during his career at the Met. He’d been shot at, stabbed, trapped in burning buildings, and brawled with criminals capable of snapping his neck like a wishbone. Yet he’d never been more anxious than he was right now, awaiting the birth of his first child.

His and Mycroft’s child.

Mycroft huddled on his side under the blankets, knees drawn up. He’d been in labour for five hours now and not complained once, but his sweaty face was a mask of brave discomfort. Distressed at seeing him in pain, Lestrade brushed the omega’s damp fringe out of his eyes.

“Can I get you anything?”

Mycroft’s chuckle was weak. “I’m presuming a few sips of Glenlivet are out of the question, so I’ll settle for more ice chips, thank you.”

Lestrade reached into the chilled bowl on the bedside table, happy to comply. Making his lover more comfortable eased his own anxiety somewhat.

Their bedroom had been converted into a temporary hospital room. The king-sized bed now had sterile white sheets and medical-grade blankets. Electrode wires ran from Mycroft’s abdomen to machines that monitored both the baby’s heartbeat and the omega’s contractions. A blood pressure cuff, electronic thermometer, and a box of latex gloves sat next to the bowl of shaved ice.

They’d moved all of the necessary equipment in last month, after Mycroft insisted on having the baby at home. “Sherlock and I were both born in this room and on this bed. Our child will be too,” he’d said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Lestrade worried about complications, but took comfort in the knowledge that a first-rate medical centre was only minutes away. He was also reassured by the sound of Dr. Sarah Sawyer’s voice out in the hall. She was chatting with Anthea and John Watson, who’d arrived with a noticeably freaked-out Sherlock two hours ago. With two top-notch doctors and a protective alpha looking out for him, Mycroft was in good hands.

John came in, wearing his usual expression of gentle concern. “Hey,” he said. “How are you doing?”

He directed the question at both of them, which Lestrade appreciated. Sometimes he had trouble believing that John Watson was an alpha: the former army doctor was patient and considerate to a fault. But whenever Sherlock (an omega, like his brother) was in danger, the proverbial iron fist came out of the cuddly velvet glove fast. John had killed to protect the impetuous younger Holmes in the past, and would do it again if the occasion demanded. He also fucked Sherlock like a wild animal during the latter’s heats- Lestrade had seen the bruises and bite marks peeking out from beneath Sherlock’s scarf afterward.

“Rather uncomfortable, but I’m managing, thank you,” Mycroft replied. It was the first time he’d alluded to the pain, so it had to be at a level that would leave most omegas screaming bloody murder.

Lestrade touched his face. “Myc,” he said, “let John or Dr. Sawyer give you an epidural.”

Mycroft shook his head. “We’ve had this discussion, Gregory. I will not put the baby at risk.”

“An epidural won’t do that. The drug doesn’t even go into your bloodstream.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m also aware that epidurals increase the risk of an emergency C-section, which _does_ introduce drugs into my bloodstream, so no thank you.”

“Of course, Mycroft. It’s your choice.” John approached the bed, one eye on the monitors. “The contractions appear to be getting stronger, though. Do you mind if I do an internal? Just to check?”

“If you must,” the omega sighed.

Lestrade tensed as he watched John pull the blankets back, exposing Mycroft below the waist. The elder Holmes wore a hospital gown that Sarah had brought, but it was now bunched around his middle and soaked with sweat. “Be careful. He’s in more pain than he’s letting on.”

“I can see that.” John’s voice was gentle as he snapped a glove onto his right hand and covered his fingers with analgesic cream. “Greg, perhaps you can help me. If you hold his leg up for me, there’s no need to turn him onto his back. He’ll be more comfortable.”

Lestrade decided that the other alpha was a genius. The opportunity to _do_ something took the edge off his agitation. “Absolutely.”

He knelt on the mattress behind Mycroft and hooked one arm around the omega’s right leg, raising it high enough for John to have access to his opening, which was slick and sore-looking. When the doctor touched him, Mycroft groaned despite himself.

“Gregory….”

“Yeah, Myc?”

“Would you kiss me? Please.”

Lestrade didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward and brought their lips together. Mycroft was so desperate for distraction that he slipped his tongue into Lestrade’s mouth and bit lightly at his lips. They were still kissing when John stepped back and binned the glove.

“I’d give it another hour,” he declared. “Then you’ll be meeting your son or daughter.”

Mycroft squeezed his alpha’s hand. “We can’t wait.”

“Well. I’d best get back to Sherlock before all the kitchen staff give notice.” John turned and headed for the door. “Sarah’s just outside. Shout if anything changes suddenly.”

By universal agreement, Sherlock was downstairs in the kitchen, pacing the floor and driving the help crazy. Lestrade and Mycroft both knew that he wouldn’t have been able to handle the intensity of the actual birth, although John confided that he was excited at the prospect of becoming an uncle.

When they were alone, Mycroft gripped Lestrade’s hand more tightly. His eyes were wide and luminous with a sheen that was normally present only during his heat.

“Gregory,” he breathed, “I need to come. Please.”

Lestrade looked down. Mycroft’s cock was curved upward and pressing against his stomach, just beneath the baby’s heart monitor. He’d done a lot of reading in preparation for both the birth process and parenthood in general, and knew that omegas in labour often became sexually excited by the hormone overload and pressure on their erogenous zones. Feeling his own arousal stir in response, he brought their mouths together again and ran his fingers down his lover’s swollen belly until they closed around that waiting erection.

Mycroft gasped against his lips. “Oh, that’s perfect. Please. More.”

Lestrade ran his thumb around the slippery crown, smearing moisture everywhere and massaging the sensitive spot just under the head. Mycroft thrust into his grip and tipped his head back for more kisses.

“This helps, truly,” the omega whispered when their lips finally parted. “You have a marvellous touch.”

Lestrade lifted his glistening fingers to Mycroft’s lips. “Taste yourself,” he ordered huskily. Mycroft licked at the fluid greedily before drawing Lestrade’s digits into his warm and wet mouth and sucking hard. Just watching him made the alpha’s cock spring to life. Lestrade settled onto his side, one leg slung carefully over Mycroft’s hip.

“Myc,” he rasped as he rutted slowly against his lover’s bare arse, “you are so damned beautiful. I’ll never forget the way you look right now.”

Mycroft drew his mouth away and smiled wearily. “I love you,” he said as Lestrade’s hand returned to his cock. His sighs of pleasure suddenly turned into deep groans as another contraction hit. When he began to beat his head against the pillow and whimper, Lestrade stilled.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Mycroft choked. “Please, Gregory, keep going. I’m nearly there.”

Lestrade pressed his chest against Mycroft’s damp back and stroked the other man’s erection more rapidly, twisting his wrist at the end of each upstroke. Mycroft arched his spine and shuddered as he came all over his belly and the mattress, biting his lip to avoid bringing John and Sarah on the run.

He was opening his mouth to thank Lestrade when another contraction tore through him, this one obviously worse than all the others. He cried out and rolled onto his back, eyes screwed shut and fingers digging into the sheets.

“Myc?” Lestrade bolted into a kneeling position and clasped his face gently in both hands. “Talk to me. Do you need me to call John and Dr. Sawyer?”

“They’re on their way. I can hear them,” Mycroft whispered. There were actual tears mixing with the sweat on his cheeks. “It’s happening, Gregory, it’s happening.”

Lestrade felt tears prick his own eyes as he kissed his omega’s forehead. “God, I love you.”

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The two doctors hurried into the room, following by an anxious Anthea. Sarah looked at the contraction monitor and declared, “It’s time.”

“That was quick,” John said, confused. “How-” Then his eyes fell on the patches of fluid drying on Mycroft’s chest and the mattress, and he sighed. “Never mind.”

“Hand me the cushions,” Sarah ordered. Anthea picked up the foam wedges that had been piled on a chair and handed them to her. After wrapping a sterile sheet around them, Sarah slid the stack under Mycroft’s hips to add a necessary tilt. While she made her patient as comfortable as possible, John fiddled with a dial that intensified the brightness of the ceiling light.

“Right, then,” he said as he approached the bed. “Greg, sit behind him and let him lean against you. Mycroft, Sarah’s going to do another internal just to confirm that you’re ready. Open your legs a bit more- yeah, like that.”

Mycroft hissed as another contraction wracked his body. Lestrade felt his composure waver.

“Damn it, John, of course he’s ready! Look at him, he’s-”

“Gregory,” Mycroft moaned. “Please. Let them work.”

Lestrade’s heart hammered as he knelt on the pillow and closed his arms firmly across Mycroft’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Myc,” he whispered.

“You’re nine months too late,” the elder Holmes replied. When Lestrade’s face fell, he chuckled weakly. “I’m jesting, of course. I’m- OW!”

Sarah waited until the contraction ended before sliding her gloved fingers into Mycroft’s body. After probing carefully and eying the contraction monitor, she announced, “You’re dilated 10 centimetres, Mr. Holmes.” As she slid her fingers out, she added, “Push as soon as the need feels urgent.”

When Lestrade saw a light smearing of blood on her glove, his jaw dropped. “What the hell? Is he injured?”

“Greg, it’s alright.” John came around the bed and touched his shoulder. “Light bleeding is normal. Please calm down.”

“It could be worse,” Mycroft panted. “I could be vomiting on everyone. I understand that contractions can cause nausea too- OH!” He threw his head back against Lestrade’s chest. “Oh, it’s coming, it’s coming!”

Sarah changed gloves. “Can you two please hold his legs up?” she asked John and Anthea as she laid a surgical drape on the mattress between Mycroft’s thighs. For the P.A.’s benefit, she added, “I need complete access to the perianal area. In a hospital delivery room the bed would have stirrups.”

Anthea hurried over, hooked her forearm under her boss’s left knee, and gently pulled his leg toward his chest. After opening a case containing surgical scissors, a bulb syringe, and other post-birth implements, John took up the other leg. Lestrade held Mycroft tighter and pressed a kiss into his damp auburn hair.

“I love you,” he said again.

“Mr. Holmes, I want you to push hard at the next contraction,” Sarah ordered.

No sooner had she spoken when Mycroft shivered all over and braced his elbows against Lestrade’s thighs. “Here goes,” he grunted before bearing down. His face and neck turned red as he pushed. 

John peered down, angling his neck so he could see Mycroft’s expanding opening. “Good,” he pronounced. “Take a deep breath. When the next contraction comes, push again.”

Mycroft nodded jerkily. Gazing up at Anthea, he managed a crooked smile. “I appreciate your assistance, my dear. I know how unpleasant this must be for you.”

Her brown eyes moistened. “Actually, sir, I feel honoured.”

“Thank you. I- AHHGH!”  The omega’s face contorted, first in agony, and then with the effort of pushing. Lestrade’s lips trembled: he was so distressed by Mycroft’s suffering that he nearly forgot that there would be a joyous outcome.

“I can see the head!” Sarah proclaimed. “All right, Mr. Holmes, you don’t need to wait for further contractions. Just push freely.”

Lestrade watched as she reached between Mycroft’s upturned legs. His mouth fell open when he saw a small, dark head appear in her gentle grasp. She gestured to John, who kept hold of Mycroft’s leg with one hand as he passed her the syringe bulb, which she used to suction the baby’s nose and mouth.

“You’re doing great, Mycroft!” John was visibly excited. “Not much longer now.”

Mycroft tipped his head back so he could gaze up at his alpha. His breathing was laboured from the force of pushing, but sudden euphoria made his skin glow. Lestrade kissed his forehead and whispered, “You’re absolutely incredible.”

Mycroft smiled. Then he pushed again, body shaking with the effort.

Together, they watched Sarah shift her arms about, gently freeing the baby’s shoulders without putting undue stress on Mycroft’s body. Her face lit up when the entire body came out in a quick and smooth glide.

“It’s a girl!” she proclaimed. She stood up straight, holding the infant aloft.

The tiny figure was deep red and needing towelling-off, but Lestrade’s throat tightened with love at the sight. “Oh, my God,” he whispered as his eyes travelled over his daughter’s face and perfectly formed limbs. When she actually began to cry, he and Mycroft did too. Anthea didn’t actually weep, but her free hand went to her mouth and her eyes glistened.

After cutting the cord, Sarah wrapped the baby in a towel and held her out to John. “Can you see to her while I deliver her sibling?”

The request was accompanied by a mischievous smile at Lestrade and Mycroft, whose teary faces went slack with shock. John gently released Mycroft’s leg as he took the baby girl from Sarah.

“Surprise!” he beamed. “You told Sarah that you didn’t want to look at the ultrasounds, didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. So she presumed that you wouldn’t want to know that Mycroft was carrying twins.”

The new parents were speechless, but not for long. Mycroft was soon groaning under the force of additional contractions, holding his own leg up so that John could tend to the first baby.

Ten minutes later, another thin wail pierced the heavy air in the bedroom.

A son. The House of Lestrade-Holmes had just been multiplied by two.


	3. Chapter 3

While Sarah tended to Mycroft and Anthea went to give Sherlock the news, John carried the babies into the gigantic walk-in closet, where an EKG monitor, weight machine, and equipment necessary for taking blood samples waited.

“Go with him,” Mycroft directed Lestrade. The alpha didn’t need much persuading: his baser instinct was flooding his brain with messages.

_Mycroft safe. Being taken care of by omega doctor._

_Offspring in the arms of another alpha._

_Observe. Protect._

He watched anxiously as John went through the motions of verifying what everyone could tell by sight: that the twins were as healthy as they were beautiful. Blood and hormone analysis would be required to determine if they were alphas, betas, or omegas, as infants couldn’t be categorized by scent until they were at least three months old.

The moment the boy was wrapped in a pale green blanket, Lestrade’s arms extended automatically.

“Give him to me,” he directed. John complied, amused, before seeing to the little girl.

“Christ, Greg,” he commented as he put a knit cap on her tiny head and pinned the blanket in place, “feeling a wee bit protective, are you?”

Lestrade stroked his son’s cheek. The boy opened his mouth reflexively and turned his head, seeking a milk supply to latch onto.

“Protective?” the new father echoed. “They’re not leaving my sight for the next eighteen years. And even after that, I’ll be watching.” Balancing his son carefully in one arm, he reached toward his daughter and touched her cheek too. The girl shifted in John’s arms and followed her brother’s example in sucking at empty air.

“Come on,” John said, turning back toward the bedroom. “Mycroft will want to see them.”

Both alphas turned around- and nearly bumped into Sherlock, who stood in the closet’s doorway.

The younger Holmes had a softness in his expression that belied his usual abrasive personality.  As he gazed at the babies, he said, “They look healthy.”

“They are,” John replied. Lestrade detected a wistfulness in his voice: he knew that the former army doctor wanted children, but Sherlock had always been uninterested in breeding.

Sherlock swallowed. “Mycroft… Mycroft said I could hold one of them.”

John approached his omega, holding the girl out. Sherlock took her carefully and studied her, fascinated. When she waved her fists, he started a bit.

“Is she angry? She appears to be trying to hit me.”

Lestrade couldn’t resist. “Of course she is. Everyone wants to hit you, Sherlock.”

“He’s joking, love,” John chuckled when the younger Holmes looked worried. “She won’t want to hit you until she’s old enough to understand what you’re saying.”

Sherlock relaxed. His mouth curled in a shy smile as he looked back and forth between his niece and nephew.

“I suppose this proves that my brother is capable of doing something right,” he said. “I-”

He stopped suddenly. Sweat sprang out on his forehead and he shuddered, but kept his grip on the baby. The two alphas didn’t have to ask him what was wrong: their noses told them everything.

Sherlock was going into heat. Exposure to the newborn relatives had triggered the breeding impulse weeks before his heat was properly due.

“Oh God.” John’s pupils dilated as his body responded instinctively. “Sarah!”

The redheaded doctor appeared behind Sherlock, her own nose cluing her in to the situation. She took the baby girl from him and said gently, “You two had best return to Baker Street now. Come back in a few days.”

“We will- if he’s capable of walking afterward.” John gripped Sherlock by the back of the neck, pressed his nose to the omega’s throat, and inhaled. “You’ve got the shittiest sense of timing, love,” he muttered as his hand slid into Sherlock’s trousers, feeling for his arse. “Fuck, you’re already wet. Greg, these little ones might have cousins soon.”

Lestrade and Sarah tried not to laugh as the bonded pair went back into the bedroom and made a hurried congratulations / excuse to Mycroft. Then they left, their progress through the house marked by a few body slams and groans.

After handing the girl to Mycroft, Sarah left too. “The nurses you hired will be here in an hour, and I’ll come round tomorrow to check on you all,” she promised. “If anything happens between now and then, please call me.”

“Of course, Dr. Sawyer,” Mycroft murmured as he reclined against the pillows, face glowing with love as his daughter shifted in his arms. “Thank you so much. I don’t hear a motor departing, so if my brother and John are making a spectacle of themselves on the lawn, kindly shoo them away. With a firearm, if necessary.”

Anthea had warmed up two bottles of donated breast milk in the downstairs kitchen (Mycroft hadn’t experienced the glandular changes necessary to support milk production) and brought them in just as Lestrade was settling next to Mycroft on the bed. As if on cue, the baby boy began to squall.

“He sounds just like you when your dinner is late, Myc,” Lestrade chuckled. He was giddy with relief over Mycroft’s safe passage through the birth process, and overwhelmed with love for both the babies and the weary omega at his side.

“Oh, Gregory,” Mycroft smiled as he accepted one of the bottles. The baby girl fastened her mouth greedily around the rubber nipple and drank. Her brother stopped crying and followed her lead when Lestrade presented him with the other bottle.

“Just kidding.” Lestrade kissed his lover’s cheek. “You were amazing today, Myc. This may well be the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Nonsense. Bosnia was much more harrowing. I only needed two stitches after this undertaking.”

Anthea stepped away from the bed, hands clasped in front of her. “If you don’t require anything else for now, gentlemen, I’ll go downstairs and tell the cook to prepare a light dinner for you both.”

“I certainly do require something,” Mycroft told her. “And that is for you to hear my daughter’s name.” After a dramatic pause, he said, “It’s Charlotte. Charlotte Anthea.”

“Oh, Sir.” Her eyes widened and she suddenly had trouble speaking. “You didn’t have to.”

“No, but we wanted to,” Lestrade said. He and Mycroft had decided on baby names soon after the pregnancy was confirmed, never imagining that they’d end up using both choices. Nodding down at his son, he added, “And this is Ian Sherrinford.”

The name was a tribute to their deceased fathers. As they gazed down at the baby boy together, each fancied that they could see a resemblance to Ian Lestrade and Sherrinford Holmes.

When Anthea finally left, sniffling audibly, Mycroft rested his temple on Lestrade’s shoulder and watched Charlotte and Ian enjoy their first meal.

“They’re perfect,” he whispered.

“That’s because you are,” Lestrade told him.

Mycroft smiled. “I try. But _you_ succeed.”

With that, they drew closer together and settled into their first hours of parenthood.


	4. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I originally wrote 'Special Delivery' last year, many of you begged for a Johnlock sequel illustrating what Sherlock and John got up to after they left Mycroft's house. Here it is!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **youcantsaymylastname** , who's been under the weather lately :)

John made it back to Baker Street in record time, but even that wasn’t quickly enough. Every time the car encountered a red light, he would stare hungrily over at Sherlock, nostrils full of the omega’s heady scent and cock trying to poke through his zip.

“When we get to the flat,” he promised as they turned onto Baker Street, “I am going to fuck you _so hard_.”

Sherlock shivered. “Hurry,” he begged.

The moment the door was unlocked Sherlock bounded up the stairs, tearing off his clothes. A silk shirt worth three hundred pounds on _sale_ fell to the landing floor in tatters while a pair of Hermes trousers was cast aside in a sticky, ruined heap. John followed, teeth bared and breath coming out in ragged, excited gasps.

When they finally stumbled into the sitting room, Sherlock whirled to face his alpha and lover. The consulting detective, now wearing only a pair of pale blue boxers, was shaking and sweating. Lubrication trickled down his lean thighs, betraying his need so strongly that John’s lust nearly transcended into madness.

“ _Sherlock_ ,” he breathed. The single word summarised everything he felt right now: excitement, arousal, and love.

Always love.

Sherlock’s cheeks felt furnace-hot against his palms as they kissed. John ran his lips over that incomparable face, claiming every square inch by taste. “Mine, mine,” he chanted before biting the omega on the shoulder and licking the red indentations that resulted.

“Shut up,” Sherlock gasped. His fingers dug into John’s jumper. “Oh God, it _hurts_. I need you to fuck me NOW.”

John’s response was to spin the taller man around, bend him over the sofa arm, and tear his soaked boxers off. Sherlock arched his back to present his arse, which glistened with clear fluid.

“ _John_.”

The alpha needed no further encouragement.  After quickly undressing, he planted one palm between Sherlock’s shoulder blades, pinning him in a gesture meant to be both aggressive and reassuring. His other hand slipped between the omega’s buttocks and probed, finding easy access to that hot and ripe body.

“Fuck, you need my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, John, yes!”

“Good. Now I’m going to take what’s mine.”

He leaned forward until his chest was pressed against Sherlock’s back. The detective groped for one of John’s braced hands and grasped it, threading their fingers together. Raising his face off the sofa cushion, sweaty curls brushing against John’s shoulder, Sherlock begged, “Give it to me! Fuck me!”

His desperation snapped the last thread of John’s restraint. Growling, he lined himself up and plunged his thick, rigid cock deep into Sherlock’s arse.

The omega’s cries were shrill, broadcasting his bliss and, yes, surprise. In between mating cycles he always forgot how good John could make him feel, how his lover’s cock filled him up and made his nerves sing and stars dot his vision. Those were days when he affectionately derided John’s intellect and treated his alpha like a beloved but dimwitted sidekick. Now was when John got the sweetest revenge possible.

Feeling his knot begin to bloom, he decided to fight his impulses in favour of some payback. Pulling his fingers from Sherlock’s grasp, he withdrew, spilling lubricating fluid onto the rug. The omega protested and reached back, clasping one of the alpha’s buttocks and trying to force him back in.

“No, John! Oh God, please!”

“I’m having second thoughts,” John said, although his erection indicated otherwise. “You’ve been a shit lately. I don’t think you deserve more than my fingers.”

Sherlock tried to rise, but the hand on his back held him firmly in place. He had to settle for staring over his shoulder, eyes huge with horror.

“John, please! I’m sorry!”

Keeping his expression severe, John traced the rim of Sherlock’s swollen hole. “Are you now? For what?”

“The fingers in the fridge! The contaminated milk! Calling you an idiot- ow!”

John grabbed the back of his neck, cutting him off, and manhandled him over to one of the armchairs.

“Show me how sorry you are then, you delectable brat,” the alpha commanded as he sat down.

Breath coming out in stutters, Sherlock climbed onto John’s lap. After planting his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders to brace himself, he sank down onto the thick erection that prodded between his cheeks. Both of them groaned.

“That’s it,” John sighed, letting his head roll against the back of the armchair as he grasped Sherlock around the waist. “Fuck yourself on me. I want to watch your face while I knot you.”

Sherlock’s thigh muscles flexed as he bounced on John’s cock, their sweaty skin slapping loudly together with each downward plunge. He threw his head back and yelled, not caring how loudly he made his pleasure known.

“Beautiful,” John crooned, and he meant it. The sight of his proud and normally controlled omega in the throes of ecstasy never failed to awe him. He freed one hand to pinch Sherlock’s nipples, which were already tight and hard.

Sherlock bent down and touched their foreheads together. His hot breath scorched John’s face. “Give me your knot. _Please_. Right now. I want you to bruise me and _take me_ and _fuck,_ you feel so good and oh damn it, _please_.”

The force and desperation of Sherlock’s pleading did it. Feeling his knot start to form in response, John grabbed his omega around the waist, got off the chair, and tumbled to the rug, pinning Sherlock beneath him. Snarling and nearly blind from the perspiration coursing down his brow, he pulled out until the base of his cock was fully flared. Then he shoved back in, knot pushing through Sherlock’s sphincter.

The detective’s face briefly contorted in a grimace of pain. “Oh yes, oh that’s it,” he moaned when his voice returned. Spidery fingers roamed all over John’s back as he rotated his hips, urging the knot across his prostate. “Fuck, yes.”

“Good, love?” John murmured. Now that they were locked together, his innate alpha aggression subsided. He deepened his thrusts, giving Sherlock the stimulation that the latter craved.

“Yes.” Sherlock pushed back, chasing orgasm. “Oh, harder! Going to come!”

John sucked a bruise onto that white neck as he reached between their bodies, grasped Sherlock’s cock, and stroked it in time with his thrusts. “Let me see you then, you fucking beauty,” he urged, eyes riveted on his omega’s face.

The praise and encouragement tipped Sherlock over the edge. Whimpering, he shuddered and clenched around John’s shaft before coming in thick stripes all over both their bellies. His kicking legs threw the rug into disarray while his grasping fingers made a mess out of his alpha’s normally tidy hair. John held him tight and fucked him faster.

“Fuck,” the alpha breathed just before he came too. He grunted and shook as he painted Sherlock’s insides with one volley of sperm after another. By the time he went still and rolled onto his side, taking Sherlock with him, the rug beneath them was soaked and spongy with their combined sweat.

For awhile they just laid there, too exhausted to do more than breathe. While they waited for John’s knot to settle, Sherlock snuggled against his lover’s chest and John slung one leg over his hip to hold him in place. Together they basked in the gentle silence and hormone suffusion that followed their loud and rough lovemaking.

Sherlock was the first to speak.

“I’m not on any birth control. This heat came on so suddenly.”

John thought of the newly born Holmes-Lestrade twins and drew Sherlock closer. “You okay about that?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

After a pause, Sherlock kissed his chest. “Actually, yes.”

And John, who’d long despaired of ever turning his old bedroom into a nursery, smiled widely.


End file.
